Storm Clouds May Gather
by Spud1
Summary: Playing his role as Orpheus to the full, Christian journeys into the netherworld to rescue his Eurydice, Satine.


STORM CLOUDS MAY GATHER  
A Moulin Rouge Fanfiction Based On The Orpheus Myth  
by Marc (diamondmeadows@hotmail.com)  
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The most distinguishing feature about Hell, Christian decided, was its bleakness. It was not particularly horrible, just bland and dark. The bleakness had struck him the moment he walked through the door, before he even saw the river.  
  
The river. It snaked along Hell's landscape like a serpent, its murky waters seeming poisonous as venom. Shadows drifted along its surface, but Christian could not see what caused them. Ghosts, perhaps? Lost souls? He didn't want to think about them. The task at hand was to cross the river. But how? Its black waters stretched out as far as Christian could see. Idly, he wondered if this miserable body of water had a name.  
  
"The river Acheron," mumbled an old man who stood on the river bank. Christian was startled; he hadn't noticed the man a few moments ago.  
  
"Excuse me?" Christian asked.  
  
"You heard me," grumbled the man, adjusting his hat. "It means woe. River of woe."  
  
"Well, it's certainly an approproate name, isn't it?" Christian attempted a smile, hoping this man would know how to save Satine.  
  
The man grunted. "What you want here, anyway?"  
  
"Oh, of course." Christian extended his hand, which was ignored. "I'm Christian. I've come here to find the woman I love. Do you know how to cross this river?"  
  
"You think I'm stupid? You cross the river in a ferry." Immediately, a boat materialized on the water.  
  
Christian was impressed. "Oh! Thank you!" he said, heading for the ferry.  
  
"Not so fast, kid." The old man stood in Christian's way, blocking his path. "I've got some rules here. First, you gotta be dead. Second, you gotta have a proper burial. Three, and most importantly, you gotta pay."  
  
Christian faltered. "Can't you make an exception? Just let one person through?"  
  
The old man shook his head. "Word gets out that Charon the ferryman's letting just anyone over the river, I'm toast. Literally - they'll throw me in the river Phlegethon." In answer to Christian's blank gaze, he added, "The river of agony, filled with flames that burn but don't consume."  
  
"You must understand, I need to cross this river. You've got to let me across in the name of love."  
  
"Love?" Charon snorted. "Love is shite, kid. Money, now that's something. Money is power. Love don't give you power."  
  
Christian composed a song quicky in his head. He sang, "The power of love is a curious thing - makes one man weep, makes another man sing."  
  
Charon's attention was suddenly devoted to Christian's words. "Hey kid, you've got a nice voice there."  
  
Christian smiled and sang, "Change a hawk to a little white dove. More than a feeling, that's the power of love! Can you feel it? Comforts and ammo are stronger than steel. That's the power of love ..."  
  
"That's real nice," Charon said. "No one's ever sang for me before."  
  
"It's my gift," Christian explained.  
  
"Real nice ..." Charon scratched his head thoughtfully. "Say, kid, I guess I could give you a lift across the river. I mean, so long as you don't tell anyone."  
  
*************************  
  
The river Acheron, river of woe, was difficult enough on Christian's psyche. He and Charon had not been sailing on it for five minutes when Christian proclaimed that his quest was hopeless and that he might as well kill himself immediately.  
  
"That's the river talking," Charon had assured him. "Just don't get the water on your skin or you'll snap from the sadness."  
  
Acheron was difficult. When the river turned into a lake with water from all five of the Hellish rivers, Christian was praying that he could be on Acheron again.  
  
Cocytus, the river of lamentation, was first. Christian took that opportunity to relate his life story to Charon, leaving out every good event that had ever taken place. He spoke at great length about the Duke and the great emotional turmoil which the Duke inevitably brought upon every innocent soul in Europe. The only pause in his lamentations came when Charon asked about Satine. Then Christian spoke dreamily of her beauty for a full three and a half minutes.  
  
Phlegethon, the river of agony, was as Charon had described it: a mass of writhing flames. Through the thick grey smoke, Christian could pick out the forms of what appeared to be people tied to stakes. The screams were unbearable. Christian huddled in a corner of the ferry and pressed his hands against his ears, weeping softly, but the sound could not be shut out. The shrieks filled his ears and brain until his head felt ready to explode. At that moment, he pictured Satine singing at the Moulin Rouge. He could see her so clearly in his mind, and then her voice drowned out the screams: "The French are glad to die for love."  
  
Christian could remember nothing from the river of Lethe.  
  
The last and final river was Styx, the river of hate. This was not an unknown emotion to Christian, though he wished it was. The hate which the water instilled in him brought him back to hateful scenes in his life. He felt as though he was reliving the moment when Satine had said, "I am the Hindu courtesan and I chose the maharaja." That moment played on loop in his memory. Oh, how he hated the Duke. How he'd like to see the Duke burn for eternity in the Phlegethon! The loathing grew so strong that Christian felt he needed to kill something. He was considering throwing Charon overboard just for the thrill of it when another image played in his mind: the finale of "Spectacular, Spectacular," when Satine had publicly announced her love for Christian. The look on the Duke's face at that moment was priceless. Priceless. What a brilliant memory.  
  
Then, finally, Christian found himself on land, feeling as though he'd just been through a series of nightmares. Glad to be finished with rivers for now, he smiled broadly at Charon. "Thank you for taking me here."  
  
"No problem, kid. You sing real nice. But, uh ... from here on, you're on your own. I've got to sail this thing back and forth a few thousand times." Charon waved and was gone.  
  
Christian had not walked far before he saw his next obstacle - it wasn't as though he could miss it. Before him stood a giant dog with three heads, each head more vicious than the next. Three sets of drooling jaws gnashed in Christian's direction while three sets of yellow eyes watched his every move. A low growl issued from the creature's three throats.  
  
Fight or flee, Christian thought desperately in his panic. Fleeing was not an option; he had come here for Satine and he would not leave without her, not for all the beasts in Hell. He hadn't any weapons to fight with, though. Was there nothing to do but fight or flee?  
  
In an instant, it came to him: tame. If he could lull the monster to sleep, he could get through. It was risky, but so was this entire journey. So was his love for Satine. Christian had been taking risks since he found Paris - he wasn't about to stop now.  
  
"Well, a song worked on Charon," he said to himself. Then, in the most soothing tone he could muster, he sang, "Goodnight, my angel. Now it's time to sleep, and still so many things I want to say. Remember all the songs you sang for me when we went sailing on an emerald bay?"  
  
Though Christian could hardly believe it, his plan was working! The six pairs of eyes gave way to six pairs of eyelids, and the dog's body was slowly sinking to the ground.  
  
"Like a boat out on the ocean, I'm rocking you to sleep. The water's dark and deep inside this ancient heart."  
  
The creature was fast asleep. Christian wanted to cheer triumphantly, but he couldn't risk waking the dog. He walked lightly around it, trying his best not to step on its huge paws. As he cleared the monster, his thoughts turned longingly towards Satine. He finished his lullaby for her: "I promised I would never leave you, and you should always know, wherever you may go, no matter where you are, I never will be far away."  
  
He wasn't far now, he could tell. Up ahead was a great palace of marble and gold. Who else could reside there but the King? Optimistic, he jogged to the palace. The main doors opened at his touch.  
  
The interior was expansive and devoid of life - but what it lacked in people, it more than made up for in riches. Piles of gold coins and shimmering jewels lined the main hallway, spilling into the open doors of rooms and making the floor glitter. Christian tried to hide his awe as he approached a magnificent carved gate which seemed to lead into a giant diamond. As he stepped through, he was instantly transported to a different room.  
  
Christian could not tear his gaze away from the walls. They were made of liquid gold, and they ebbed and flowed like ocean tides. Near the wall farthest from him stood an ornate ivory throne. The throne's back stretched to the ceiling and its arms reached out to Christian like the outstretched claws of a tiger catching its prey.  
  
From the nothingness came a voice unlike anything Christian had ever heard, a voice which was at once thundering and quiet, deep and shrill, filled with ecstatic agony and agonizing ecstasy. It was a voice that defied all logic, but Christian knew that logic holds no place in matters of love and death.  
  
The voice spoke: "What manner of god or demon is this who so foolishly enters the chamber of the Keeper of Lost Souls?"  
  
Christian spun in his place and scoured the room with his eyes, but he could not find the speaker. He could not even decide on a direction; the voice seemed to come at him from all sides - it seemed to come from inside his very soul. Despite himself, Christian shivered.  
  
To calm himself, he imagined his father perched on the ivory throne. He recalled the night when he had confronted his father, finally, and announced his decision to move to Paris. "I've been under your control for too long," he had said, his words fueled by sudden courage and passion. "It's time I started living my life." And so he had, lived his life to the extreme at the Moulin Rouge. If he hadn't confronted his father, he would never have known Satine.  
  
If he did not confront Hades, he would never get her back.  
  
"I am Christian," he said, feeling that same courage and passion pulsing through his veins. "I am not a god or a demon. I'm a man."  
  
There came a sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, then: "What man could pass through the gates of Hell unharmed? Were you not stopped at the river bank by the relentless ferryman Charon?"  
  
"I was," Christian replied, "but he let me across for a song." (If he were not so frightened, he would have smiled at his pun.)  
  
The voice: "You crossed through the waters of five rivers: the rivers of woe, lamentation, agony, forgetfulness, and hate. Were you not overwhelmed?"  
  
"I might have been, had I not in my heart an emotion far more powerful than any of those," Christian said.  
  
"And what of the fearsome Cerberus, who guards the gate to Hell with his three vicious heads?"  
  
"Even a monster could see that he must let me through, for my mission is very important."  
  
The voice was silent for a moment before asking: "And what is your mission?"  
  
Christian did not need to think before answering, "Love."  
  
At once, a figure materialized in the ivory throne. His face was indistinct; whenever Christian tried to focus on a particular feature, that feature seemed to shift out of place. Christian knew at once that this was Hades, owner of the voice.  
  
Hades spoke: "I am Polydegmon, he who greets many. I rule over this land. Every soul that passes from the world of the living to the world of the dead becomes my property. They are mine, for I am Hades. You have fought your way through the obstacles of Hell to see me. What is it you seek?"  
  
"Satine," Christian whispered. At her name, the golden walls seemed to shine brighter - but that was probably his imagination. "She was taken too soon. She didn't have the chance to live."  
  
"I have never released a soul in the name of youth. Why should your Satine be an exception?"  
  
"Because I love her!"  
  
"That is no concern of mine."  
  
"You must let her go."  
  
Hades was silent.  
  
"You must!" Christian insisted. "I've passed over the waters and through the gates of Hell to get her back. I've earned it! You must let her go!"  
  
The figure sat still but for its shifting features. Still and silent.  
  
Christian was, for the first time during his journey, terrified. When he'd faced the ferryman and braved the waters, when he'd gazed into the six cold eyes of Cerberus, he'd done it with the hope of rescuing Satine. The mantra which played endlessly in his head was Satine: find Satine, save Satine. Hope had drowned his fear. Now he faced the prospect of failure. He was terrified.  
  
In his fear, his poet's mind took raw emotion and transformed it into words. He heard the poem in his head, a poem so rich with love and sorrow that it would be painful to read, torture to speak. So he opened his lips, and he sang.  
  
Christian's voice carried far beyond the changing walls of the throne room and over the fields and rivers of hell. It reached every corner of the vast land of Hades, touched every creature who could call itself alive. Charon fell to his knees by the river bank and wept. Cerberus' three heads let out howls of sympathy. Upon hearing Christian's voice, every tormented soul in hell was relieved of its anguish for those few sweet moments while he sang of his love.  
  
When the song ended, Hades himself could not contain his emotion. "You may take her," he muttered, "under one condition."  
  
"Yes! Anything!" Christian felt his power returning as the light of hope glimmered once more in his eyes.  
  
"Out of the underworld, she will follow you, walking always behind you. You will not hear her. You will not see her. If you try to look at her before you have reached the world of the living, she is mine. Go now."  
  
Christian hesitated. "Where is she?"  
  
"I will send her behind you the moment you leave the throne room. Should you turn to look at her, I will take her back. Go."  
  
Hades was gone.  
  
Christian had no choice but to obey, so he walked carefully out of the throne room, listening for Satine's footsteps. He heard nothing. He walked further, quietly listening. He walked far from Hades' palace, past Cerberus (who whimpered sadly as he passed), towards the river bank where Charon knelt. He heard nothing but Charon's sobs.  
  
"Charon!" Christian called to the ferryman. "Take me across."  
  
Charon did as he was told without complaint, for he felt empathy toward the singer of the song. As the ferry sailed along Hell's deep waters, Christian listened for Satine. She must be behind him, she must. But why couldn't he hear anything? When a few drops of water from the river of woe splashed his hand, he felt certain in his heart that this was all a trick, that he would end up in the living world without his reason for life. He almost turned around, but then - no, no - there was no use turning around when she would not be there. There was no use doing anything at all.  
  
As he reached the bank and the river of woe was behind him, Christian decided to contact Satine without looking for her. "Satine!" he called. "Satine, are you behind me?"  
  
Christian heard nothing but silence. The very damned seemed to have stopped their tortured wailing. There was nothing but silence. It was driving him mad, the silence. The silence and the fear.  
  
"Satine, you must be behind me," he said. "Do you understand? You've got to follow me. This cannot be a trick. Satine! Why won't you answer me? Satine!"  
  
He wanted so much to check, to take just one small peek over his shoulder. If he saw a flash of her luscious red hair, then he'd turn back quickly and run for the exit. The end of his journey, which had once been the beginning, was in sight. Perhaps he could step partly through the gate, check for Satine, and then throw her into the living world before anyone noticed he'd turned. Yes, that was his plan! If he saw no Satine, he would know it was a trick and he could confront Hades once more, here in the underworld. If his love was behind him, he would grab her and run.  
  
With new vigor, Christian sprinted the rest of the way to the gate, the entrace into the living world. "Here we go, Satine," he whispered, pausing with one foot over the threshold. "This must work. If love exists, this must work."  
  
He turned.  
  
There she was, standing behind him. She smiled and called his name, extending her hands for an embrace. Out of his mind with joy, forgetting all plans, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. Sobbing, he kissed her. She felt so real against him, so warm, so alive.  
  
And then she was gone, out of his arms, gliding away from him, away from the gate. Almost before he could react, she had disappeared into the darkness.  
  
It was several minutes before Christian recovered enough from his shock to realize what he'd done. Two more steps and he would have saved her. Two more steps and she would be alive. The grief that he felt at that moment could not have been more terrible if he'd plunged himself into the river of woe. He fell to the ground and wept harder than he ever had in his life. This was worse than losing Satine to consumption. This was worse because it was his fault.  
  
He could not bring himself to sing. He would not sing anymore. As he closed his eyes and sobbed into the dirt of the underworld, he managed to whisper his last lyric, hoping that somehow, Satine would hear it and recognize its truth: "Come what may ... I will love you ... until the end of time." 


End file.
